Khajiit in the Big City
by M'aiq the Liar
Summary: The escapades of M’aiq while he is in the grand metropolis of Mournhold and elsewhere.


M'aiq the Liar and other associated Morrowind and Oblivion properties are under the Elder Scrolls (Bethesda and the like) license. I'm just borrowing.

_A word from M'aiq_: Eh, just what FanFiction needs…another Khajiit story. Hah, I'm sorry. However, this is M'aiq's story, so enjoy. Oh, there are possible Tribunal main quest spoilers. (If not now, there will be in later chapters.) The prey has been warned.

**M'aiq the Liar presents "Khajiit in the Big City"**

Mournhold is the Dunmer's city; however, that does not discourage wayfarers from finding themselves within the city's rich walls. It is a city blessed by the Nine and watched by a goddess. Her very own men-at-arms scour the city, dressed in the finest of armor. The city itself is a mesh of artisans' and architects' dreams built in stone. The tangle of sewers that lie beneath the city is a spawning place of the unsavory, where villainous misdeeds constantly brew. However, the nobles above live in sunshine and politics, obliviously feasting to their hearts' content. That, my friend, is the perfect setting for an ambitious Khajiit to wreak a bit of feline havoc.

M'aiq is just such a creature. He's a boundlessly opinionated person, with as much wit as he has nerve. Some dislike the Khajiit, while others are completely mystified by him. A very few may actually admit some type of awkward, unrequited feelings they have for the old cat, but M'aiq only has one love in his life: calipers. Well, perhaps he has two, calipers and Colovian fur helms. However, the latter is more of a fashion preference. Oh, he also has an undeniable love for Skooma, just like all—okay—_most_ Khajiits do. All right, to clear everything up, M'aiq has two loves in his life, calipers and Skooma, and enjoys wearing Colovian fur helms above all else.

Anyway, not many know where he came from, and he tends to travel from place to place. He's been to an unknown number of provinces, spreading his words of wisdom. The reason he travels is unknown to most. In truth, M'aiq is simply never pleased at staying here or there for an amount of time. This time however, M'aiq's presence in Mournhold is a longer one, guaranteeing mischief, trouble, and general ne'er-do-welling. Now, let us begin the story with the reason behind M'aiq's appearance in Almalexia's beautiful city.

-:-

After overhearing word that quick teleportation was available to Mournhold, M'aiq decided to see into it for himself. The old Khajiit had never been a fan of walking long distances, though he did often while on his never-ending search for calipers. He curiously followed a rather well armored female through the Grand Council Chambers of Ebonheart. Many of the guards hailed her as she passed by. M'aiq did not know this person, but he did know that she would lead him to easy access to Mournhold. His Khajiiti mind was in a buzz from the excitement of heading to a city infested, er, filled with some of Morrowind's greatest nobles. His left footpaw twitched as he imagined the rich chambers of King Helseth. Suddenly, he heard a man's outcry.

A Dunmer in full ebony armor ran up to the woman M'aiq had been following and yelled, "Why! Why are you leaving me? Honestly, I can change!"

The woman furrowed her brows and replied, "Vedam, you're only hurting yourself with this…embarrassing scene."

"Please!" he shouted, grabbing onto her waist and somehow kneeling in his armor.

"Look, I—" she cut herself off as she turned over Vedam's hand, where she found three rubies. She frowned at him disapprovingly as she snatched them back and pushed his hands away. "That's what I mean. You're complete thief, Vedam! How you manage to be Duke of Vvardenfell is beyond me. You're nothing but a rogue to me. I'm going to Mournhold and that's that."

"But, I…and…" he whimpered slightly.

The woman shook her head and demanded, "Enough! Now get up. You look like a fool."

"I…I…ah, er…can't!" Vedam cried as he strained to stand up in his heavy armor. The woman heaved a disgusted sigh and kicked him, knocking him onto his back. Vedam writhed on the ground in attempt to get up but was completely unable to. The woman smiled wickedly and chuckled, "Goodbye, Vedam. By the way, I was only interested in you to be named Hortator."

M'aiq heaved an impatient sigh as he watched the humans' squabble. The Khajiit had little time to watch their charades. Finally, the woman spoke with the mage, one named Asciene Rane, about traveling to Mournhold. In a matter of seconds, the woman then disappeared, only leaving a purple glittering light behind her. M'aiq approached the robed human with hopes to be transported as well.

As M'aiq went to talk with Asciene, he heard the Dunmer's voice order, "Khajiit! Come here." M'aiq frowned in slight disgust and turned towards the man, who'd received help from other Hlaalu members to get back to his feet.

"What does the prey want?" M'aiq growled.

Vedam cleared his throat and said, "Ah, good Khajiit. I need a favor from you. In return, I'll be willing to give you…ah, this!" He brought forth a key and stated, "It is the key to the Hlaalu vaults in Vivec."

The Khajiit's ear twitched ever so slightly, "I'm listening…"

"Yes, good. You must go to Mournhold and convince that woman, Ayla Orthalas, to come back to me. Do this and I will give you the key," Vedam said.

"M'aiq will do this for the human in exchange for the key to his riches, yes. Good day," he said as he turned to Asciene.

Vedam's last words were, "I'll be waiting!" Then, the mage quickly worked her magic and transported the Khajiit to Mournhold without another word.

-:-

M'aiq coolly exited the Royal Palace and rubbed his furry chin in thought as he looked over the simple but elegant courtyard. The guards, the king's guards, strode through the main plaza with unspoken arrogance. _Nothing but humans in steel britches_, thought M'aiq condescendingly. He glanced around but saw no sign of the woman. Then, he began wandering through the city somewhat aimlessly. Looking through the myriad of people walking through the streets. They looked wealthy and money blessed. He followed crowd into the Great Bazaar and found a great niche for quality barterers. He stuck to the alleyways and watched the passersby carefully. He stopped for a moment to look through the contents of a crate. A man abruptly ran into M'aiq.

"Watch where you're going, n'wah!" grumbled the man. This conspicuous man was dressed in full black armor, and a dagger was poised in his hand, ready to strike.

M'aiq heaved a sigh and continued rummaging through the crate. He heard the man's footsteps quickly head off another direction. M'aiq looked up to see a paper fluttering to the ground. He picked it up and glanced at the scrawls on it; he squinted his eyes and turned the paper, but he could decipher nothing through his illiteracy. Sighing, he walked up to a woman with an alchemy stand and gave her the paper and a gold coin.

"Read this," he stated. The woman glanced at him oddly as she looked down at the paper. Her eyes widened as she read over the page. M'aiq then said, "To _me_, muthsera."

She cleared her throat and read, "The Bearer of this document, under special dispensation of the Night Mother, who has entered in a contract in perpetuity with H, is given special dispensation to execute Ayla Orthalas, a Dunmer recently residing on the island of Vvardenfell. In accordance with all laws and traditions, the aforementioned personage will be executed in the name of H in the most expedient manner possible. All services of the Dark Brotherhood are at the disposal of the Bearer of this binding and non-disputable document."

M'aiq furrowed his brows and said, "What? Humans talk too much, even in papers."

"It's the work of the Dark Brotherhood. This woman has been marked for assassination. I would just steer clear of all of that," the woman informed as she handed him the paper. M'aiq stuffed it into his robe. _Ayla Orthalas_, he thought, _that's the woman I'm looking for, right?_ _I had better find her before those assassins do, or else there will be no treasure for M'aiq_. As the Khajiit walked away, he overheard an interesting conversation between two unknown characters.

A man, presumably Dunmer, stated, "Well, well, well, aren't _you_ the tasty little morsel? You must be new here, for I'd have recognized your beautiful face." A woman's laughter sounded in reply.

"So," she replied, "who do you think you are?"

"Fons Beren at your service," the man answered. "I am a man who loves beautiful woman and a great lover by all accounts; ask any woman here. How about we skip the formalities and head back to my manor?"

The woman said with a chuckle, "Ha, I'm convinced. Take me away, eh, what'd you say your name was?"

As soon as M'aiq heard their footsteps trail off, he carefully followed them, piqued by the promise of a wealthy home. He decided to hold off the search for the Dunmer woman momentarily in favor of possibly finding his own small riches. The Khajiit's left footpaw twitched with delight. A smile came to his feline face, and he headed behind the home to wait for night's shadow to come into existence overhead. However, he found himself waiting even longer, for unquestionable noises kept him from daring to enter the home. Finally, M'aiq seized his chance and broke into the quiet home.

Checking through a number of chests, the Khajiit found articles of common clothing and only an average library of inexpensive literature works. M'aiq could have given up, but he wasn't quite satisfied and decided to slink upstairs to take a small gander. What he found upstairs in the armoire outside the bedroom shocked him.

He found a rare-looking hammer, some type of Dwemer sword, and a full suit of Daedric armor minus one gauntlet. However, in place of one Daedric gauntlet was a curious looking piece of armor. Carefully, he sorted through some ripped and stained papers. Reading them by moonlight, he found nothing but old Dunmer tales and myths. However, one specific word caught his eye, _artifact_. He knew the strange pieces were worth quite a bit of gold. Then, he came across the word _Nerevarine_.

His ears twitched as he thought back a while. He recalled the Dunmer craze over such a person. Apparently, the Nerevarine was some hero; M'aiq had thought it was just some Elven fad. He wondered how this Fons Beren was able to steal from the Nerevarine. Shrugging, he took hold of the weapons and started to heave them out of the armoire when a sudden pain, starting from his hand, sent him to his knees. M'aiq hissed quietly as the pain throbbed in his hand.

Suddenly, the bedroom door opened and a rather muscular woman in a bare robe stood before him, eyeing the Khajiit suspiciously. Scanning the scene, the woman then smiled and placed a hand on her hip. She laughed aloud and approached the felled cat.

"So the kitty was attracted to my shiny weapons, huh?" she asked condescendingly.

M'aiq hissed in detest. While a wiser one would have admitted defeat, this Khajiit was not about to tuck his tail under and leave empty clawed. He was wordless from finding that this famed Nerevarine was a woman; not only this, but she was sleeping with a Mournhold noble. In an act of desperation to wreak _some_ havoc, the cat shredded her papers with his claw and made his way out of the home. He growled and muttered vicious comments under his breath as he crept down the alley, same as before minus dignity. _I'm never going to find that wretched Ayla Orthalas_, M'aiq thought. _Perhaps this old Khajiit will have better luck in the morning_.


End file.
